A Miracle Princess
The standoff had dragged on for a few more tense moments.
The mysterious man whispered a few words to Nicholas's aide nearby, and only then did things shift.
“Withdraw!”
The order rang out, and the Rotinzel forces retrieved Nicholas's body before pulling back.
With a sigh of relief, Fabian approached Jeanne and tore at his own garment to wrap it around her shoulder like a bandage.
Jeanne accepted his support and returned to the castle.
“Truly magnificent!”
The first to greet her with the warmest welcome—despite having opposed her departure more than anyone else—was Divain.
Jeanne smiled faintly at him, biting back the pain.
Gaspar arrived with the castle physician. The man gazed at the princess with a mix of astonishment and confusion.
The one who had simply assumed this daughter of the king was a bit odd now found himself staring at the princess who possessed such power and recklessness.
The physician began his examination with a grave expression. Since no proper anesthetic was available, he stitched the wound in real time, and Jeanne endured the agony with full awareness.
“Ugh… ugh…”
“The immediate danger has passed, but for this arm, I cannot guarantee full recovery. We must monitor the healing process, and in the worst case… amputation may be necessary….”
The physician trailed off, his words too difficult to finish.
Fabian blamed himself.
“I should have been the one to take the risk.”
“No… this was something I alone had to do. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Still, you lost far too much.”
“One arm for the life of a knight like Nicholas—that is a cheap price.”
“Do you truly believe that is the meaning of losing a hand?”
“Hah… I fear I will never become a double-edged knight after all. Is that not so?”
Jeanne glanced at Nael.
“Eh? Well… yes, I suppose so. But I can wield a sword with one hand.”
Nael, who had been furrowing his brow as if the hand had already been severed, paused at Jeanne's words before breaking into a playful smile and replying in a teasing tone.
“Is this a joke? And you, Sir Nael, are you actually accepting this?”
“If the princess recovers, I could teach you swordsmanship.”
The ridiculous answer left Fabian sighing deeply as he cradled his troublesome son.
After completing the treatment, everyone except Jeanne was dismissed with orders to rest. Fatigued from the long wait, Jeanne soon fell into a deep sleep.
***
King Philippe VII had returned to the palace after the war ended, using the burnt ruins of Roire Castle as a stand-in for the royal palace to continue ruling.
The very spot where Divain had been publicly executed for treason now stood before the palace wall.
Jeanne stood there now.
Divain's head, still dangling from the noose, moved.
The rope around his neck slowly raised his head, and his swollen, purple face broke into a grotesque grin.
“Ki… ki… ki… ki… kiki!”
Jeanne recoiled in shock and took several steps back.
This was not Divain.
Divain was already dead.
If only she had a blade, but she stood there completely unarmed.
No matter how far she retreated, the distance remained the same.
Divain's decaying hand pointed at her.
“Why… did you betray me?”
Betrayal? She had simply…
Simply what? Knowing that refusing to commit treason here meant certain death, how could it be anything but betrayal?
“You wanted to live alone?”
Divain's voice, Ines's voice, and the grieving voices of those who had died for Jeanne mixed together as they flowed from the lips.
Jeanne was finally swallowed by the darkness.
“Hah…!”
Jeanne sucked in a sharp breath and opened her eyes.
She pressed one hand to her forehead.
“Hah… ha… again?”
Since obtaining Joyeuse and witnessing Divain's final moments, how many times had she dreamed this? She no longer knew. This cursed dream would not let her go.
She had to regain her senses.
She could not be swayed by mere dreams.
Jeanne clung to herself amid the raging waves of emotion and pulled herself fully back into reality.
Unusually refreshed—her sweat-soaked body unrelated to this—she had barely slept yet felt invigorated. The persistent pain in her shoulder had subsided.
Jeanne realized something and lowered her hand from her forehead. The arm the physician had warned might require amputation moved smoothly.
“What is this?”
The arm moved without a trace of injury, and Jeanne felt a strange unease.
Unwrapping the bandages without permission was unacceptable for a patient, yet the conviction that she alone knew her own body best took hold.
Jeanne removed the bandages and examined the wounded spot.
“The wound… disappeared?”
The shoulder that should have been nearly half-severed—deeply slashed, with muscle, tendons, and veins fully visible—was now completely healed, leaving only a thin line.
Unbelieving, Jeanne touched the spot with her uninjured hand. A slight stiffness remained, but otherwise it was perfectly fine.
How could such a deep wound heal in a single night? She had experienced the impossible through regression, yet this was something different entirely.
Then Jeanne lowered her gaze to the warmth in her chest.
The Rosary she had worn around her neck since the tomb of the King of the Dead glowed with a beautiful light.
The radiant gleam emanating from the jewel was the blood-red hue that symbolized life itself.
If magic had declined in ancient times, holy power had simply always existed.
Holy power possessed no healing ability. Even if a chaplain blessed the area, the best outcome was easing the mind or restoring fatigue—nothing more. The fact that her wound had healed completely defied logic.
Yet she could only conclude that the Rosary had performed some unknown action. Otherwise, explaining this miracle would be even more impossible.
She needed someone to discuss this with.
Jeanne quietly summoned Divain.
“What is the matter?”
Divain's appearance caused Jeanne to recall the dream's afterimage and let out a startled cry.
When Divain tilted his head in confusion, Jeanne cleared her throat and feigned composure.
Jeanne carefully showed Divain the place where her wound had been.
“An astonishing occurrence.”
“Do you have any idea how this happened?”
“Well… honestly, I have no clue. Does Your Highness have any suspicion?”
Jeanne nodded and lifted the still-warm Rosary.
“Perhaps this is a holy relic of healing.”
“A holy relic of healing, you say?”
Jeanne offered the Rosary to him. Divain took it with both hands.
The Rosary felt not only warm but as though a special energy was flowing into his body. It was reasonable to assume it possessed healing power.
“I obtained it from the tomb of the King of the Dead. It is a memento of Knight Laurent.”
Divain stroked his chin and let out a thoughtful hum.
“That is most peculiar.”
“Why?”
“If, as Your Highness claims, this is a relic of Laurent, it should be recorded. It is strange that a knight as noble as Laurent would not have documented the use of such a valuable tool for healing.”
“Indeed. If Laurent possessed such a healing relic, he would not have kept it solely for himself.”
Of the twelve knights of Charles, all had been great, but among them, Laurent had always put others first and willingly sacrificed himself.
“Yet the lack of records suggests that in that era, the Rosary appeared ordinary to the people. Laurent simply never used the relic's power in public. Perhaps it requires specific conditions to activate.”
Divain speculated that the power might only manifest under certain circumstances, or perhaps something had to be offered as a sacrifice.
“I will need to investigate this further. Receiving power without conditions is unthinkable. We may have underestimated the price we must pay.”
Jeanne toyed with the Rosary around her neck. Warmth still emanated from it.
If it was dangerous, she should discard it, but had Laurent truly worn such a thing? The thought crossed her mind.
Yet the seed of doubt remained lodged in the corner of her heart.
The red glow of the jewel embedded in the Rosary seemed strangely eerie.
“As for the arm, how do I explain this to others? Should I wrap it in bandages and act as if it still hurts?”
After a brief pause, Divain responded lightly, as if it were nothing special.
“Just spread a rumor.”
“What nonsense are you speaking now?”
“No, there is a story. The Princess Jeanne received the selection of the heavens. A princess on the brink of death from a fatal injury recovered thanks to a miracle and returned alive.”
“It was not that dangerous to begin with.”
“These tales usually exaggerate things. By spreading a slightly embellished version, the rumor will naturally grow like a snowball, and everyone will hear about the princess.”
“What do we gain from this?”
“Just trust me. I will draft one right now.”
Divain replied with a sly grin.
“Very well. I leave that part to you.”
“I will do my best to portray Your Highness as a warrior of the gods, akin to a Valkyrie.”
Jeanne could not help but chuckle at Divain's brazen demeanor, which showed no change in expression.
Divain, strangely animated, hummed a tune while pulling a notebook from his pocket to write.
“What are you writing? Are you composing a strategy?”
“Your Highness, do you know what is most important in politics?”
One corner of Divain's mouth lifted in a long curve. Jeanne had seen that face before, after the council meeting—the distinctive smile he wore. The next day, the political landscape had always shifted dramatically. Jeanne swallowed, feeling a slight chill, and focused on his next words.
“Stirring up rumors and fabricating stories.”
***
Divain, who thrived on creating rumors and fabrications, looked like a fish that had fallen into water. In the dim underground chamber of Ileon Castle, an old metal device that had not been used for some time made a loud clanking sound as it stamped something onto a thin sheet of paper.
Nael picked up the single sheet that had just finished printing.
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The Miracle Princess Jeanne, Returned from Death!
Beneath the bold title, a full-body engraving of Jeanne in armor, sword in hand, was accompanied by a dramatically exaggerated and emotional tale beneath her photo. It described how the princess, who had almost died in the life-or-death duel with Nicholas, had miraculously recovered perfectly within a single night.
After reading the entire article, Nael whispered to Fabian.
“Is this a trickster?”
“Aren't scholars and tricksters one step apart?”
Thud!
A thick wad of paper dropped in front of them.
“If you heard everything, go deliver this somewhere or circulate it.”
Divain, with black ink smeared across his cheek, gleamed brightly even in the dark underground chamber.